


American Hero

by SarahxMichelle



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahxMichelle/pseuds/SarahxMichelle
Summary: Inspired by: ‘American Hero’ by Rainbow Kitten Surprise --“I would do anything for you to love meLike I'm an American hero babyStar-spangled in my mannerShaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you seeI would do anything to hear you sayThere goes an American hero, darlingCall the press and tell 'em all"He's got a front page picture face with all of the amenities”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to figure out my own characterization of Elder Maxson for a while, never really happy with anything I had come up with previously. This time, I've got something that finally seems fitting so I'm just going to run with it!

He stared out the panoramic windows at the bow of the Prydwen; looking down over the Commonwealth, he momentarily caught a glimpse of his own scarred reflection in the glass. How fitting, it seemed, that he stood glaring down on a broken society, when he himself was just as broken (who was he to judge, after all?).

Arthur Maxson was believed to be the ‘poster child’ for the Brotherhood of Steel; born and raised in their traditions- eating, sleeping, breathing their ideals. Becoming Elder was the only reality he had ever accepted, the youngest in Brotherhood history. Yet, he never let it get to his head. It’s true that he was revered - and even idolized - by members of the western chapters, but hearing that news embarrassed him. He wasn’t always this way, though - he wondered how much his subordinates really knew about his past. He did his best to keep it under wraps.

From what he could remember, he'd lived a rather unimpressive childhood. His father, a high-ranking Paladin in the East Coast faction of the Brotherhood, had been killed in action; his mother had sheltered him the best she could, Arthur had been a timid child who often kept to himself. He was young, scrappy, and barely possessed enough strength to crush a can of pork’n’beans. His mother surrendered him to a family friend, Owyn Lyons, after fearing that Arthur would never be able to care for himself in the cruel Capital Wasteland; she’d hoped Owyn would take him under his wing and give him a better life.

Arthur had spent hours pouring over books in the Brotherhood’s extensive archives back at the Citadel when he was a child. And he’d spent an equal amount of time fighting alongside his brothers and sisters on the battlefield, once he hit thirteen. He admired old-world technologies and politics but wasn’t afraid to cross the fine line that so many other Elders delicately walked; Arthur didn’t believe in just hoarding and preserving all of this old-world technology. He believed in studying it, understanding how to utilize and adapt it to work in their favor. The way he saw it, that was really the only way for the Brotherhood to continue to survive and advance their cause.

It was acting on that mindset that elevated Arthur quickly through the ranks until he reached Elder at the ripe young age of just sixteen. He understood why they sought after medical records, technical documents, pre-war inventions - but more than this, he wanted to revive them. Even now, on the verge of twenty-one, when he wasn’t commanding his troops aboard the Prydwen, one would most likely find him in the archives deciphering pre-war texts, and making notes on how best to implement them to the Brotherhood’s benefit. He didn’t believe that he’d ever outgrow his introverted tendencies, nor did he want to. Arthur enjoyed his own company above everyone else’s. At least, that were true until he met Evelyn.


	2. Chapter 2

Maxson woke up with pain in his temples, it was throbbing, pulsating, relentless. He slowly rose from his bed and leaned up against the wall for stability. It was then he noticed that Danse was still asleep on the couch: again, it was unusual to see the Paladin so unlike the soldier he’d come to know over the years. He glanced at the clock, 06:00 - just late enough to not be considered early morning. He exited his quarters, and headed down the corridor to Cade’s office. Maxson was surprised to see Cade typing away at his terminal, and shuffled his feet over the threshold to make his presence known.

“Can I- oh, Elder Maxson, good morning,” he turned around on his stool, and shot straight up in the air out of respect.

Maxson nodded, “At ease, soldier. I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

“You and me both,” he fought the smile that inevitably spread across his face. “But I’m not surprised that you’re up and about. Nothing ever seems to slow you down.”

Maxson paused for a moment, if only Cade knew how untrue that were, “Someone’s got to be the ringleader for this circus.” They both smiled at that response.

“What can I do you for this morning? Looking for a pick-me-up?” Cade winked at Maxson. While other high ranking officers on the ship, such as Proctor Quinlan, subscribed to the old school of thought that no mind (or body)-altering substances were to be used to gain advantages, Maxson’s policy was surprisingly a bit more lenient. In theory, those chems could become dangerous and highly addictive, ruining a soldiers accuracy and reliability in the field; the fear of altering their state of mind and making them more susceptible to corruption by Brotherhood enemies was also a major concern.

However, since the invention of Addictol that could effectively cure all addiction, he believed the benefits of using only very specific drugs could prove to be beneficial for them. Cade personally administered the heavily-moderated doses of chems like Psycho and Jet, and only ever with the written consent from and presence of the Elder. Officially, neither of them ever outwardly recommended these to their soldiers, but the ones who knew enough to allude to it often times were granted permission for these “treatments.”

“No, actually. I was hoping to speak to you about something troubling that happened. But I need you to swear to me that this discussion never leaves your office,” Maxson stared straight into Cade’s soul, it seemed. It was daunting, Cade couldn’t think to respond in any other way except nodding his head. “Is that clear, Captain?” he needed assurance.

“Yes sir, Elder Maxson. Crystal,” they were using titles, now. This was a formal request of assistance from patient to doctor.

Maxson perched on the end of the medical examination table, “Last night, I was laying in bed, thinking about something, when out of nowhere… a tear escaped my eye.” He looked down at the ground as he spoke; Maxson was not a weak man - he’d looked fellow soldiers right in the eyes as they took their last breaths, he’d done the same when handing over their holotags to the next of kin, never once breaking eye contact. He slaughtered countless ghouls, super mutants, deathclaws even without the tiniest shred of remorse or hesitation… but admitting to this moment of weakness, this single tear, out loud to a fellow officer made him feel more embarrassed than he could ever remember feeling.

“You cried?” Cade asked, making sure he had heard Maxson correctly.

“I didn’t cry - it was one tear drop. I had a flashback to my childhood, I thought of my mother for the first time in so long. I was overcome with this… sadness, and grief. It came out of nowhere,” Maxson finally looked up at Cade, who was studying the Elder with measured concern. “What could have brought this on?”

Cade took a moment to collect his thoughts, reflecting back on an email he’d received from Maxson at the start of their journey - that soldier’s mental health was to be taken as seriously as though it were a legitimate illness. He’d treated soldiers for PTSD and stress-induced anxiety attacks, but he couldn’t find the direct connection between this event and Maxson’s position within the Brotherhood. Something this deep-seated in his memory, from his childhood, was frankly more than Cade felt qualified to diagnose.

He always felt honesty was the best policy, so when Cade spoke- it was with slight reluctance but as truthful as he could be, "Frankly, Elder Maxson, I’m not sure that I’m the most qualified person to help you answer that. I can tell you that, as your friend, I have watched you face some of the most difficult challenges of being human - struggling to stay alive, watching your comrades die right in front of you, and that feeling of helplessness… it takes its toll on you.

“You have stayed strong and stoic in those moments, but just because you choose to mask it and bury it, doesn’t mean that you don’t _feel_ the pain, the sadness, the disappointment. I’ve seen you get angry, I’ve seen you passionately pursue different opportunities within the Brotherhood - but I have never seen you sad. It’s only a matter of time until we all reach our tipping point, and I’d say you’re long overdue. All it takes is one, sometimes seemingly insignificant comment, obstacle, or in this case - a memory - to push us over the edge. In the end, that is what makes us human, and what sets us apart from any other species.”

Elder Maxson stood up, and smiled at Cade, “I appreciate you taking the time to listen. Like I said before, this conversation doesn’t leave this office.”

“It never happened,” Cade assured him, and stood up to salute the Elder. “Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam, Captain.”

Maxson exited Cade’s office with a lot to take into consideration: what had he meant when he said “you’re long overdue?” He hadn’t felt as though he buried his feelings, perhaps he wasn’t always the most expressive - but Maxson thought himself entirely capable of actually expressing anger, pride, disappointment. Those three things, he thought he showed exceptionally well. He wasn’t lacking in sadness or fright, but it didn’t do to dwell on those things; dwelling on negative emotions only made them manifest more frequently, and that was something Maxson absolutely could not have in his leadership.

He presented a strong, brave, almost aggressive front- and this was important for him to portray to his soldiers. They needed someone they could trust, through their moments of strength as well as their moments of weakness; he often had to be strong for others when they couldn’t be themselves. Leaders have to set an example, to inspire their followers. It's not always just giving orders, and telling the person what you want them to do, you have to help them realize they want to do it. These were things he did exceptionally well, enough to earn him the title of Elder at such a young age.

It wasn’t long before Maxson heard other soldiers stirring, beginning their day. It was rare to see Maxson get involved with the day-to-day and to see him walking about the Prydwen, as he normally could be found either in his personal quarters, the Command Deck, or meeting with higher-ranked officers in the Control Center. But here he was, inspecting his soldiers and making sure all were presenting their best. He even advised a group of initiates on the best way to disassemble their weapons for cleaning, and the quickest way to reassemble them afterward. They thanked him, and Maxson headed back to his room- if Danse wasn’t already awake, he’d need to make sure that he didn’t fall behind on his daily tasks.


End file.
